Such was the host that to the conflict came,
    Their bosoms kindling with empyreal flame
    And sense of heavenly help.—­The beams that broke
    From each celestial file with horror struck
    The bowyer god, who felt the blinding rays,
    And like a mortal stood in fix’d amaze;
    While on his spoils the fair assailants flew,
    And plunder’d at their ease the captive crew;
    And some with palmy boughs the way bestrew’d,
    To show their conquest o’er the baffled god. 
    Sudden as Hannibal on Zama’s field
    Was forced to Scipio’s conquering arms to yield;
    Sudden as David’s hand the giant sped,
    When Accaron beheld his fall and fled;
    Sudden as her revenge who gave the word,
    When her stern guards dispatch’d the Persian lord;
    Or like a man that feels a strong disease
    His shivering members in a moment seize—­
    Such direful throes convulsed the despot’s frame. 
    His hands, that veil’d his eyes, confess’d his shame,
    And mental pangs, more agonising far,
    In his sick bosom bred a civil war;
    And hate and anguish, with insatiate ire,
    Flash’d in his eyes with momentary fire.—­
    Not raging Ocean, when its billows boil;
    Nor Typhon, when he lifts the trembling soil
    Of Arima, his tortured limbs to ease;
    Nor Etna, thundering o’er the subject seas—­
    Surpass’d the fury of the baffled Power,
    Who stamp’d with rage, and bann’d the luckless hour
    Scenes yet unsung demand my loftiest lays—­
    But oh! the theme transcends a mortal’s praise. 
    A sweet but humbler subject may suffice
    To muster in my song her fair allies;
    But first, her arms and vesture claim my song
    Before I chant the fair attendant throng:—­
    A robe she wore that seem’d of woven light;
    The buckler of Minerva fill’d her right,
    Medusa’s bane; a column there was drawn
    Of jasper bright; and o’er the snowy lawn
    And round her beauteous neck a chain was slung,
    Which glittering on her snowy bosom hung. 
    Diamond and topaz there, with mingled ray,
    Return’d in varied hues the beam of day;
    A treasure of inestimable cost,
    Too long, alas! in Lethe’s bosom lost: 
    To modern matrons scarcely known by fame,
    Few, were it to be found, the prize would claim. 
    With this the vanquish’d god she firmly bound,
    While I with joy her kind assistance own’d;
    But oh! the feeble Muse attempts in vain
    To celebrate in song her numerous train;
    Not all the choir of Aganippe’s spring
    The pageant of the sisterhood could sing: 
    But some shall live, distinguished in my lay,
    The most illustrious of the long array.—­
    The dexter wing the fair Lucretia led,
    With her, who, faithful to her nuptial bed,
    Her suitors scorn’d:  and these with dauntless hand